


on his mouth like liquor

by caramelize



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Facials, Limousine Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 04:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15573990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelize/pseuds/caramelize
Summary: driver roll up the partition, please





	on his mouth like liquor

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place sometime nebulously in part 3? Although there are no spoilers. I simply made it so the characters actually age because bamco are too big of cowards to do it themselves. 
> 
> I've probably forgotten something because I'm posting this stupid late at night. In any case, enjoy!

Re:vale’s wrap parties were always well-attended, long-lasting, and fully stocked with good booze, which also meant they tended to go a little sideways, but finding himself in the back of a limo with Nagi was a new one for Mitsuki. If he tried, he could recall vague memories of listening to Momo lament that since he and Yuki were staying at the hotel instead of heading back to their apartments, their nice ride would go to waste. Yet, he couldn’t remember actually agreeing to take it back to IDOLiSH7’s dorms so it’d see some use. Maybe it had been Nagi who ultimately said they’d do Momo the favor, but it’d long been shaping up to be one of those nights they’d have to piece together the morning after, with the scattered fragments of Rabichats and their manager’s help. Mitsuki’s phone was already vibrating in his pocket, little bursts in quick succession, which meant it was probably Yamato complaining they left him to wrangle a drunk Sougo all by himself. Mitsuki ignored them, distracted by Nagi and the way he was delightedly moving around in his seat, saying something about how he hadn’t ridden in a limo since he’d lived in Northmare. 

Though, if Mitsuki was being honest, he’d been distracted from the start. Nagi’s dress shirt was black tonight—a color he wore rarely. A shame, since it looked downright unfair on him, made the gold of his hair seem brighter, turned the blue of his eyes into deeper jewel tones, contrasted against his skin so even the sliver of it in the peek of his wrists out of his sleeves looked unblemished and creamy. Mitsuki’s eyes had followed him from the moment they stepped into the hotel’s lobby, through the rounds of greeting who they knew in attendance, through all the drinks, through the attention he got from the models and actresses in their silky, glittering dresses. Mitsuki _did_ remember the way they’d all deflated and begged Nagi to stay—just half an hour longer!—when he said he’d be leaving, the little burst of satisfaction he’d felt when Nagi properly gave them his excuses to slip out.

“Mitsuki?” At the sound of his name, his gaze snapped over to Nagi for the nth time that night, to the bottle of rosé champagne in the other’s hand, beads of condensation rolling down the sides. “I thought you’d fallen asleep for a minute there.”

“I’m not _that_ drunk,” Mitsuki muttered, sitting up straighter on his seat. The leather was soft and plush, and he could easily fall asleep on it if he wanted to, but alcohol always sent something good and buzzing through him instead. He didn’t feel like napping. “Are you still going?” 

“Just a glass. It would be a shame not to, don’t you think?” 

“Is that a good bottle?” If anyone could tell if it was worth drinking at first glance, it was probably Nagi. Ever since he joined the ranks of the drinking adults, he showed a depth of knowledge about wines that far surpassed even Sougo. Mitsuki had asked him where he learned all that before, but Nagi had just made a joke about it being a part of his upbringing. 

“Yes. Very. Mr. Momo and Mr. Yuki have good taste.” Nagi gestured to the other empty flutes lined up in neat rows at the minibar, reflecting the blue lights under the seats. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” 

“I’ll have a sip from yours,” Mitsuki said, and Nagi smiled, slow and pleased. It made Mitsuki warm in a way that had nothing to do with being tipsy, but before he could take it back and ask for his own glass, or tell Nagi not to get too far ahead of himself, the car started moving, and Mitsuki’s attention was drawn to the fact that the tinted glass partition between them and the driver was rolling up. “Hey, you don’t have to—” 

“It’s a habit, sir,” the driver responded. “My other clients, Re:vale, prefer it this way.” 

“I don’t have a problem with it,” Nagi said, looking up briefly from where he was taking off the champagne bottle’s foil.

“I guess I don’t either.” Immediately after he spoke, the glass rose again, and Mitsuki watched it until it reached the roof of the limo, sealing them off, insulated, from the driver, from the traffic, from the whole nightlife bustle of the world outside. Just him, and Nagi, and he probably should listen to the voice inside his head talking about how to conduct himself as an idol, but as tipsy as he was, floating in the hazy tinge the world took on that made all responsibilities and inhibitions seem insignificant, he could admit to himself that he wanted this. Wanted it the whole night, practically. They could have the ride home just to themselves, couldn’t they? 

Beside him, there was a loud _pop_ , followed by Nagi muttering _oops_ , and Mitsuki turned his head around in time to watch Nagi open his mouth, his tongue darting out to swipe up his wrist, over the heel of his palm. Licking up spilled champagne, no doubt. But Mitsuki was left dazed by the gesture, the hint of things he knew the sensation of, a wet mouth on bare, sensitive skin, until there was the warm weight of Nagi right at his side and a champagne flute held under his nose. 

“Have a taste,” Nagi said, fingers lingering when Mitsuki took the glass from him. Usually, he wouldn’t ignore such obvious flirting, but there was something addictive about having Nagi’s attention on him like this, how he could feel the other watching him as he tipped the flute back to take a sip of champagne. The wine was smooth, light, the tickle of bubbles and fruity aftertaste tempting him to keep drinking, to have just one more mouthful, but before he could raise the glass to his lips again, he heard the soft creak of leather, and Nagi leaned down to press a kiss to a spot just behind his ear. 

“Nagi—” Mitsuki’s voice caught on a gasp too much for it to be a reproach, but he didn’t really want it to be, didn’t truly want to deter Nagi from nuzzling against him, from running his hand up Mitsuki’s thigh, over his hip, to start untucking Mitsuki’s dress shirt. 

“What’s the matter?” He was so close, so fitted against Mitsuki’s side, his voice was more of a rumble than something Mitsuki heard. “We won’t be seen.” 

“That’s not what—geeze, what flipped your switch?” 

“Hm.” Nagi hummed, and didn’t answer immediately, too busy dragging his teeth along a spot on Mitsuki’s neck that, had he been standing, would have made his knees weak. “You look very good in a suit.” 

“Really?” It was more than a little unfathomable to him that Nagi, broad-shouldered and long-legged Nagi, who suits fit as snug and lovingly as a caress, would find Mitsuki nigh-irresistible in one. “How drunk are you?” 

“Mitsuki.” Laughing, his breath ghosting over Mitsuki’s throat, Nagi inched his hand up further, fingers tracing light and fluttering, almost reverently, against the ridges of Mitsuki’s ribs. “I thought so since before I had a drink. You didn’t notice me looking?” 

“No.” He’d been too preoccupied with imagining sliding his palm up Nagi’s chest, hooking his fingers in the knot of the other’s tie to tug it undone. He shifted on the seat to replicate the image in reality, angling his body more towards Nagi, feeling the precise way his breath hitched under Mitsuki’s hand, listening to the silk of the tie whisper, details a daydream couldn’t match. “I was watching you.” 

“Thinking of this?” Nagi asked, and Mitsuki didn’t reply, only popped open a button on Nagi’s shirt, and then another, and another, until the planes of his chest were bared. In that moment, he hated Nagi’s modeling a little, because if he just had other jobs maybe, _maybe_ Mitsuki could get away with biting down, leaving something lurid behind on all that pale, flawless skin. So if that wasn’t allowed, he had to think of something else to placate the craving to litter bite marks all over, and almost in the same moment the stray impulse flitted across his mind he acted on it, lifted the half-full flute of champagne he still held and tipped it, spilling the remaining wine out over the base of Nagi’s throat. Nagi yelped, surprised, but any questions he might have been about to ask, like what the hell Mitsuki thought he was doing, or complaints about his ruined clothing faded into soft noises of pleasure as Mitsuki lowered his head and lapped up the liquid dripping down Nagi’s chest, tongue dipping into the valleys of Nagi’s collarbone where it had pooled. 

Beneath the sharpness of alcohol there was a hint of salt, the taste of Nagi’s skin, so, so warm and good, but it couldn’t compare to Nagi’s mouth when Mitsuki finally finished and lifted his head for a kiss, one that melted into dozens more, into Nagi sucking at his bottom lip and rolling his tongue inside until Mitsuki felt like whipped cream Nagi had licked up, soft and dissolving in the heat. At some point, Mitsuki dropped the empty glass to the floor so he could use both hands to tug Nagi’s head into a better position for kissing, to card his fingers through Nagi’s hair and feel the styling gel give under his touch.  


He could stay like that forever, having Nagi hold him while they sank into kiss after kiss, the buzz of both pleasure and alcohol thrumming through him, but after what felt like only another minute, Nagi gently pushed Mitsuki back until they separated. Barely. Mitsuki wouldn’t allow any more space than was needed to breathe or speak, keeping a tight hold on Nagi’s hair. 

“Don’t. Don’t, you can’t stop.” 

“I’m not. I promise. I wouldn’t,” Nagi placated, and it was then that Mitsuki realized the breadth of Nagi’s palm was pressed to the small of his back, and the other was trying to ease him down so he was reclined against the cushions. “I _couldn’t_.” 

Reluctantly, Mitsuki followed Nagi’s urging until he was mostly prone, letting one leg dangle off the edge of the seats and propping himself up on his elbows, just enough to watch what Nagi was doing. Irritatingly, he tossed Mitsuki a wink, like he was a fan who needed to be charmed, but any feelings of annoyance evaporated immediately when Nagi kneeled on the floor by Mitsuki’s feet, hands working at Mitsuki’s belt. The position alone was enough to have Mitsuki’s pulse kick up, desire squeezing around him, sharp and sudden. 

“Nagi.” He couldn’t find his voice until his pants were undone and to his knees, and even then it was only to sigh out the other’s name, weighted with anticipation. Nagi’s gaze lifted to him, focused but heady, like simply looking at Mitsuki was getting him steadily drunker. 

“Mm?” His fingers hooked under the waistband of Mitsuki’s underwear and slid it down, Nagi’s mouth following the same path the fabric did, wet, openmouthed kisses tracing a line from Mitsuki’s hip, along the inside of his thigh, over his knee. Just that much had Mitsuki panting by the end, itching to drag Nagi over to get that same sensation over his cock, to have the low burn building in him tip over into something searing. Instead, Nagi retraced the path back up to Mitsuki’s hip and further, teeth scraping across his abs in a way that was a hair off ticklish, but Mitsuki shivered all the more because of it. 

“We don’t—” Mitsuki swallowed, breath catching, and tried again. “We don’t have that much time in here.” 

“You’re right.” Like an apology, Nagi traced his thumb in a tiny circle along the inside of Mitsuki’s knee, a gentle, tender gesture that left Mitsuki utterly unprepared for Nagi turning his head enough to rub his cheek up the length of Mitsuki’s cock, smooth and soft and perfect, and Mitsuki’s next exhale crumbled into a moan. “I wish we had more.” 

“ _You_ started this instead of waiting,” Mitsuki shot back. He thought he was going to overheat, collapse from this alone, from the knowledge that currently, his dick was cradled against the pretty face plastered on dozens of billboards in the city. But Nagi’s cheek was warm on him, pleasure-flushed, even if Mitsuki couldn’t see it in the dim ambient lights, and he was staring with that wide-eyed persuasive intensity he usually reserved for when he was begging for something he badly wanted. Now, that something was Mitsuki. 

As if acquiescing to the point, Nagi hummed, a soft sound of agreement that had Mitsuki shivering from the vibration against his cock, but even before the pleasure from that had ebbed completely, Nagi was leaning back to press a messy kiss to the head. His entire body thrummed from it, the soft cushion of Nagi’s lips and the slick hint of his tongue beyond. Not even the pause when Nagi pulled away felt like a respite when Mitsuki could watch how the other’s eyelashes were fluttering, watch Nagi tuck his loosened bangs behind his ear right before he sank his mouth down on Mitsuki’s cock in earnest. 

Mitsuki’s breath left him in a rush, hands scrambling to find some sort of purchase against all the wet, velvet heat around him, against the molten pleasure it sent dripping along his spine to pool in the pit of his stomach. One of his palms hit the window, the squeal it made against the glass as he dragged it away drowned out by his own gasping, while Nagi took the other, his thumb running across Mitsuki’s knuckles, something quiet and fond and utterly counterpoint to the way his cheeks hollowed, the way his tongue ran up the underside of Mitsuki’s cock as he bobbed his head. Mitsuki’s hips twitched, and he rocked a little further into the sweet, plush warmth of Nagi’s mouth that he wanted to _bury_ himself in. 

The next sound he let out was strangled, embarrassing, but that only seemed to encourage Nagi, eyes lidded and dark when he swallowed, throat tightening, and—oh. _Oh_ , shit. Mitsuki was going to melt, from pleasure, from Nagi, from the way Nagi tucked the head of Mitsuki’s cock against the velvety slickness of his inner cheek with his tongue. He could feel himself twitch in Nagi’s mouth on the next slide back, trembling, a thread about to snap, but instead of being allowed another slow glide down into wet, delicious heat, it was replaced by Nagi’s fingers, giving Mitsuki a gentle squeeze. 

Any questions Mitsuki had died before he could voice them, evaporating in the wake of the sure, firm touch of Nagi’s hand, the perfect twist of his wrist on the upstroke. It was so good it ached, so good he couldn’t stand it, couldn’t do anything but breathe out a moan and roll his hips into Nagi’s grip shallowly until he was coming, the edges of his vision wavering, blurring like a kaleidoscope before the colors came back into focus. 

If he had any coherence to spare earlier, he might have wondered why Nagi hadn’t finished him off with his mouth, since they both seemed to be enjoying it, but after the world righted itself a little more in the afterglow and Mitsuki could sit up shakily, it became immediately obvious what Nagi had done. 

Beneath him, in the semi-darkness of the limo’s floor, details were hard to parse, but Mitsuki could still easily see the come streaking Nagi’s face, along his cheek, the bridge of his nose, clinging to the full, long brush of his eyelashes. It shone slick in the blue lights under the seats, like the spit still gleaming on Nagi’s lips, like the reflection in his eyes, expression glazed over and downright blissful. Slowly, Nagi swiped his thumb through the mess, stopping when he reached the corner of his mouth to suck off the come he’d gathered, as easy and thoughtlessly as he’d licked up the spilled champagne when he first opened the bottle. 

“Liked it?” Nagi asked, hoarsely, and Mitsuki didn’t have the words, with alcohol and endorphins still singing through his blood, to express how much he loved it, how much he loved _Nagi_ , but he always did better with actions, anyway, and he replied by reaching down to grasp Nagi’s arm and tug. 

“Come up here, already.” 

Whether out of too much eagerness or trying to be a tease, Nagi ended up straddling Mitsuki’s lap when he finally rose from the floor. At least that made it easier for Mitsuki to work open his belt and pants, to get a hand under the layers of clothing and feel Nagi heavy and pulsing in his palm. It was intoxicating, heady, the same as tossing back a shot to know that Nagi enjoyed sucking him off to this extent, to the point he was already squirming, seeking out more friction. Mitsuki gave it to him, a languid, feathery touch up the shaft to the head, before he wrapped his hand around Nagi’s cock and started stroking with purpose. The sound it wrenched out of Nagi was closer to a keen than anything, and even if Mitsuki wanted to hear more, even if it sent a shivery flush of excitement through him, he couldn’t help but lean in for a kiss to swallow the rest of those noises down.

Tasting himself on Nagi’s lips was strange, not entirely pleasant, but it also reminded him of Nagi on his knees, instantly pulled up the image of come dripping down to rest at the curve of Nagi’s jaw. He’d have to tell Nagi to never, ever wear this particular cologne again, too, because otherwise Mitsuki would catch a hint of it and sense-memory would have him think of nothing but the dim back seat of a limo, jerking Nagi off while he panted _Mitsuki, Mitsuki, Mitsuki_ , voice weighted and dark chocolate rich with pleasure. 

Nagi’s knees squeezed against his hips, tense and shuddering, and Mitsuki tightened his grip a fraction, quickened the pace of his hand until the end of his name repeating from Nagi canted up into a rough, uneven groan. Come trickled warmly down the backs of his fingers, but he left it there, left Nagi to list against him and slur nothings in a language he didn’t understand—Northmarean?—as he let his head loll back against the seat to watch the familiar nighttime scenery drift by the window. 

Familiar. They were a handful of blocks from the dorms. 

“ _Shit_! We’re almost back!” At his insistence, Nagi only stared back at him, blankly, like he couldn’t quite comprehend why Mitsuki was so hurried. “We’re—we can’t go back there like this! The others are probably still awake.” 

“Oh. Is that all?” 

“Is that _all_? That’s—never mind. Just grab some of those cocktail napkins at the minibar.” Despite Nagi obeying, the napkins were only able to help with the mess on Mitsuki’s hand. It had already dried tacky onto Nagi’s face, which Mitsuki couldn’t scrub off well without water, and there was nothing to be done about the champagne or stains that had rubbed into their clothing. Possibly worst of all, Nagi wore sex openly, a pretty pink blush and hazy glaze to him that lasted a while after orgasm. Any other time and Mitsuki was fond of it, found it cute, but that was when he wasn’t trying to sneak back into the dorms after fucking in the back of a limo without his little brother figuring out what he’d been up to. Small comfort that only the wine had ended up on the seats and floor. “Listen. You have to hide your face when we go in there. Act like you’re really, really, really drunk and lean on me. That’ll give us time to hide in the bathroom.” 

“I get to hold you? Okay.” Nagi smiled, dreamy, touching the corner of Mitsuki’s mouth as he moved to sit properly on the seats again. “I’ll play along.” 

Unfortunately, Mitsuki could see the lights were still on when the limo pulled up to the curb in front of the dorm. He was hoping that the youngest three who’d gone home earlier from the party had retreated to their rooms for the night, but no such luck. The car didn’t drive off until Mitsuki and Nagi had reached the front door, which was a trial by itself, because while Nagi had followed Mitsuki’s instructions and was leaning against him unsteadily, acting drunker than he actually was, he mostly used it as an excuse to cling, obnoxiously. Somehow, Mitsuki still managed to fish his keys out of his pocket and open the door with Nagi mouthing along his ear. 

Iori, Tamaki, and Riku seemed preoccupied with something in the living room—from Mitsuki’s limited vision around Nagi, it looked like a board game, but whatever-it-was bought enough time for them to be halfway to the bathroom before any of the other three even raised their heads. 

“Nii-san?” 

“Uh, yeah, we’re back! Can you give us a second?” 

“Is everything all right?” 

“Yeah, completely fine, just—” He shoved Nagi ahead of him into the bathroom, ignoring the way he whined _Mitsuki_ and made a grabbing motion. “—need a moment.”

Silence followed him shutting and locking the door, and lasted through him running the sink to wet washcloths, but after another minute or two he could pick out the sound of murmuring voices in the hallway. 

“Are you sure you’re okay in there?” Riku asked, voice tinged in worry, and Mitsuki felt the needling sting of guilt. “Does one of you feel sick?” 

“No. It’s not that. We—”

“We spilled champagne in the limo,” Nagi supplied, helpful and smooth, as Mitsuki yanked him down by the collar to start cleaning off his face and—oh, god, it even got into his _hair_. “We’re trying to save our suits but I do not know how successful we’ll be.” 

“You got to ride in a limo?!” Tamaki sounded like he was pressed right up against the door. “Sou-chan bragged on rabichat he’s getting to stay in a nice hotel room, and _you_ got to ride in a limo! It’s not fair!” 

“Is that where he and Yamato ended up?” He should really check his phone, now that he thought about it. “And Momo-san and Yuki-san let us use their ride since they were staying back, too. We’ll have to thank them later.” 

“Yotsuba-san, stop taking up the whole—” There was a scuffle, and when Iori spoke again he seemed a little winded, like he’d physically pushed Tamaki out of the way. “Nii-san, we can just get those dry-cleaned. I’m not sure you want to leave laundry to chance with Nanase-san around.” 

“Hey! I’ve gotten a _lot_ better!” 

“Ah…maybe you’re right, Iori.” In the dark, fine fabric of Nagi’s dress shirt, there was no way to tell if he’d gotten all the wine off, and there were probably stray spots on Mitsuki’s own that he couldn’t see easily. “So could you bring us a change?” 

“I will!” Riku chimed, and the patter of footfalls grew quieter as he went towards their rooms. 

“I’ll bring you and Rokuya-san some water,” Iori said. “So please come out of there soon.” 

“Right. Thanks, Iori.” Mitsuki waited until he was certain Iori had gone off to the kitchen, and he heard Tamaki’s distant _not fair_ , before he heaved a sigh. “I don’t think he was fooled.” 

“No, I think he was.” Grinning, Nagi leaned forward to grab Mitsuki by the hips. “He just thinks we’re playing in _here_.” 

“Then don’t make him right,” Mitsuki retorted, stepping out of his hold. Nagi’s smile didn’t falter, but softened into something more imploring, the kind of smile that made Mitsuki feel like a planet helpless in the pull of Nagi’s orbit. 

“Come to my room later?” 

“What, you haven’t had your fill yet?” 

“Never of you.” Often, Nagi’s inclination for flowery poetics made the ratio of teasing to seriousness hard to determine, but how he was staring, eyes bright and burning like the hottest blue part of a flame, made Mitsuki believe him this time, completely, instantly. “You don’t want any more?” 

“I didn’t say that.” And he didn’t, hadn’t stopped wanting since the night had started. They could have another round, half a dozen, until morning, and maybe even then he wouldn’t stop. 

Mitsuki curled his fingers into Nagi’s collar again and pulled him down, to kiss, and keep kissing, until either Riku or Iori’s knock on the door interrupted them.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'know, it's probably fine since Momo and Yuki have done worse back there, I'm sure. 
> 
> title comes from "Partition" by Queen B 
> 
> Come talk to me on twitter @magicocona, if you're so inclined! Until next time, and thanks for reading!


End file.
